Best Week of My Life
by shadowed by passion
Summary: When her life is about to end, she really starts living.


This is another re-post. For those who never read this, get some tissues.

**Best Week of My Life**

My name is Isabella Swan. I was twenty-six years old when I died.

There I was, sitting on a hospital bed in one of the finest hospital's in Chicago, waiting to die. But I had never felt more alive until I knew I would, for certain, die.

Two years earlier I met with my local gynecologist in Seattle, holding Emmett's hand. I sat in a paper gown, covered by a sheet, praying that Doctor Clearwater was just joking with me.

Ovarian Cancer? Stage three? Maybe a year to live? I was too young!

Twenty-four, living life, trying to start a family. Things were perfect. Our inability to get pregnant was what brought us to her office in the first place.

My life flashed before my eyes; my kindergarten graduation, Renee and Charlie holding hands, smiling at me; Renee's funeral, my tear-stained face tucked deep in my father's shaking arms. My high school graduation; Charlie alone in the audience, never looking up at me, still broken from losing Renee. The day I got the call that Charlie shot himself with his service weapon, and I was alone. Then meeting Emmett and our whirlwind of a relationship, getting married six weeks after we met in Cabo; living on a complete high of each other. Our wedding was extravagant and he gave me everything I wanted, when I wanted it. I was no longer alone.

Suddenly, I was sitting in the doctor's office, given a death sentence; ending the perfectness we had.

I couldn't deny I had slacked on the yearly exam thing. It was uncomfortable and I wasn't concerned. Cancer didn't run in my family. I thought I had nothing to worry about.

It had been three years since I had seen a gynecologist, and in those three years, a massive tumor grew inside me.

I quietly sobbed as she left and gave us a few minutes to cope with the news. I couldn't look Emmett in the eye. All he ever wanted was to be a father, and suddenly, I realized I could never give that to him. I had failed him. He gave me so much and I wasn't able to give him even one thing.

I wiped my tear-stained face as I changed out of the paper gown.

Emmett walked next to me down the hall to Doctor Clearwater's office. I didn't offer my hand and he didn't offer his. He sniffled and seemed to be holding back his tears. Emmett hadn't cried since the day we were married, four years earlier. Our world was falling apart.

We sat in Doctor Clearwater's office, looking back at her with tension filling the air.

She quietly handed me a stack of information as well as a few numbers to oncologists in the area and wished me well. There was no time to ask questions, not that I would have known what to ask.

Emmett and I drove home in silence. After that day, we lived our lives in silence. Our relationship quietly ended when I was no longer able to be a mother to his future children.

I scheduled my surgery to have my uterus removed and waited; hoping surgery would take the cancer with it. After surgery I would be on a six month regimen of chemotherapy and puking.

Emmett and I lived a day at a time. He came with me when I had my surgery. He held my hair back while I puked, trying to be supportive. He came with me when I had my first post-operative PET scan and found out my cancer had metastasized and I had three lumps in my right breast and one in my left lung.

I thought I would beat it. I thought getting my uterus out would be what saved me. I kicked myself, realizing I suffered surgical pain and losing part of what made me a woman, and I still wasn't kicking Cancer's ass. It was going to kick mine.

I cried that night while Emmett sat in the corner of the living room, looking out the window. He didn't look at me again after that night and we still didn't talk. I was dying and he was trying to cope, or hide away from the reality of it.

I started going to chemo with my best friend, Rosalie. She had been there for me when my mom and dad both died. She had been like a sister to me growing up and suddenly she was like my mother figure, caring for me when I couldn't.

I started a stronger dose of chemo, which meant I felt shittier than before. I threw up for five days instead of the three it was before. Rose held my hair and got my Gatorade and stayed at my bedside until I was able to get up without needing to dash to the bathroom.

My long, beautiful brown locks had almost all fallen out. I got a short pixie cut; hoping I wouldn't notice the clumps of hair falling out if they were not as long.

The routine went on forever before we decided on a lumpectomy and direct site radiation, while in surgery. Unfortunately, direct site radiation was not available in Seattle.

I boarded a plane to Chicago to meet with an oncologist at Rush; Carlisle Cullen. He was said to be the best in the business, so I made the trip and crossed my fingers, hoping it would work.

After a week in the hospital, I boarded a plane back home, with a sore breast and extreme nausea, promising to return in six weeks to start an additional clinical trial they were offering.

Emmett was supposed to pick me up at the airport, but my flight was delayed and I told him I would take a cab.

I sat in the cab, holding tightly onto my sore chest, realizing I again lost another little part of my womanhood.

The cab left me in front of our apartment. I stood out front, trying to find the will to take myself back inside. Little by little, I was less of a woman. I had no hair, no uterus and only a tit and a half left.

I wiped away the few stray tears that fell at the thought of being only part of me now, as I made my way to the front door. It was dark inside and I hoped Emmett was resting.

I quietly opened the door, having to lean against the wall once inside. I was sore and out of breath and horribly nauseated. My lung still had a lump in it and after any kind of exertion, even a small walk, I was left breathless.

It was silent in the apartment until I heard giggling, and moaning and Emmett grunting.

I figured he was watching porn, since we hadn't been intimate in a very long time. At least he was finding satisfaction. I would struggle to the couch until he was finished. I didn't want to interrupt if he was able to get his own release.

As soon as I heard a woman moan Emmett's name I knew it wasn't porn.

With new-found energy, I held on to the wall and slowly made it to the bedroom door.

I peeked through the crack of the open door.

I saw hands and naked bodies and blonde hair sprawled across _my_ pillow.

I pushed the door open before I fell to the floor. Our marriage had been perfect, more than perfect really. I was fighting for my life, on the verge of death, and my husband and best friend were fucking?

I heard them both gasp as they jumped apart and the world around me went black.

I returned to Chicago six weeks later, divorce papers in hand. I didn't want to stay in the marriage or make Emmett stay until I died. I knew that Emmett would care for Rose and she would him. As much as I needed someone, I refused to force him into staying with me out of sympathy. I always wanted us to be happy, and I knew we were no longer happy together. After finding them, I couldn't force happiness.

Before I left, Rose tried to apologize, as did Emmett, but I didn't need them to say they were sorry. Their apologies wouldn't change what happened or our abilities to move forward, separately. I needed to sever the ties so I would be able to live happy until my end.

I rented a small apartment which he paid for. He opted to support me until I either died, or found another. I figured death would take me soon enough.

I got into a good routine in Chicago; chemo, puking and repeat.

Doctor Carlisle Cullen was wonderful. He made me feel at home in Chicago, even though I was alone and over two-thousand miles from home.

His wife, Esme, would cook for me and bring me care packages when I was at the hospital, and I spent a lot of time at the hospital.

I sighed, thinking back over the last few years of my life, which led me where I was. The cancer had officially spread through my entire body. I was a walking Bella of cancer cells.

Carlisle had given me minimal time left to live, and I wanted to live it; enjoy it! I refused to be hooked to oxygen or machines or anything else that would lengthen my stay on earth. A light dose of morphine three times a day and I was good to go.

I wandered around the hospital in sweats and a mask. My immune system was shot and even though death was near, Carlisle made me promise to 'be smart.'

Seven days left to live.

At that time, I had no idea my life would end so soon. I sat in my bed, watching Maury and laughing at the thought I might see Emmett on there one day, if I lived long enough.

My giggling stopped, overtaken by coughs. When the coughing stopped, I heard the voice of Carlisle and another man. They were just outside of my door, engaged in what sounded to be a heated debate.

I was in my own personal debate as to whether I should get up or not, when I realized I was standing at the doorway, my jaw dropped from the sight before me.

There stood the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on. He was tall, with a strong build and unruly hair.

Carlisle looked to me and inquired to my well-being. I was without a mask in an attempt to leave my room and he wasn't amused.

He shooed me back to my bed, hand on the small of my back, as the other man followed.

He was like my own personal angel, there for me. Well, in the truth of it, I knew he wasn't there for me. I was dying and there was no way a man of his graces would want me in that state.

Carlisle left me, but the angel stayed. He sat at the end of my bed, briefly looking at me and then away. It was almost like he was worried he would catch cancer from me.

We sat in silence, but it was nice to not be alone.

I had spent the last year alone, and suddenly, with the end near, I had company.

He left just as he came, without a word. I felt like sitting with me had been torture for him.

Six days left to live.

My body ached and I wanted so badly to ask for more drugs, but when I went, I wanted to go lucidly, seeing the world around me.

I begged Carlisle to let me take a walk outside; like _really_ outside. I had been stuck in the hospital for six months, without an ounce of fresh air.

He complied, bringing me a wheelchair and introducing me to Edward, his son and the sit-in, from the day before.

Edward pushed me around the courtyard of the hospital. I sat and took in the air the best I could through the mask that covered my nose and mouth. I was covered in a blanket and a hat securely on my still semi-bald head.

Even though I stopped chemo three months earlier, my hair had yet to really make its way back. That was okay though, because I bought an awesome wig for my funeral.

I watched the birds fly by, and squirrels chase one another up trees. I took a deep breath and relaxed. My end was near, and I needed to find solace in that.

I always heard that you know when it was your time, and that was the truth. You could deny it, or dismiss it, but your heart knew when its beats were limited.

Five days left in my life.

One-hundred and twenty hours. Seven-thousand and two-hundred minutes until I would take my last breath, and I was none the wiser.

Edward sat with me all day again.

He held my hand when I started to shake from the pain. He rubbed my head and whispered in my ear until I fell asleep.

We had hardly talked, but I felt closer to him after two days than I had the four years I was married to Emmett.

He didn't leave me alone. I awoke late in the afternoon, still in Edward's arms as he slept. The soft intake of his breath as it hit the back of my neck; his arms wrapped around my tiny frame, making me feel safe. Making me feel loved.

The jolt of my body convulsing woke Edward, as he withdrew his arms from around me. The pain in my body radiated and I screamed.

Carlisle and a team of nurses came in to check on me. I was quickly sedated; dropping me back in a deep slumber.

I was a princess. Well, dressed as one. I was in a dress right off the red carpet. It snugged tight where it should and flared out at the bottom; bright pink and covered in lace and rhinestones. My hair had grown back out, flowing around my shoulders as the wind blew lightly, taking my hair with it. My dress flowed and accented what remained of my womanhood.

Edward stood in front of me, in a black tuxedo; hair slicked back and tamed. He held his hand out for me to take.

He pulled me so I was flush with him; my dress swaying as he slowly started to dance.

I closed my eyes and rested my head on his chest.

It was Heaven. I found my way.

Four days left.

I awoke with a cough and a jolt of my body.

Edward was at my side, holding my hand before the coughing fit was over.

I reluctantly accepted the oxygen mask, but refused to wrap it around my head. I would not become dependent.

Edward carried me to the bathroom when I had to go, modestly leaving to give me privacy, but offering me something no one else ever had in this process that was death. He gave me support.

I didn't even know why he was giving it to me. He was selfless and it made no sense. Why was he there for me? I wasn't worth all of his attention. I was going to die. I hoped he understood that. It was too late to save me.

My chest hurt and my breathing was labored all day. Edward helped me eat, then rubbed my back as my body rejected the food. He never squirmed or retched as my body convulsed.

I ended my day, curled in bed, in silence, with my head on Edward's lap, crying. Why was I given an angel just as I was about to die?

Seventy-two hours left.

If I had known, I might have slept less, stared at my God-sent angel more. I needed to memorize his face, his features, his smell, so when I died, I was sure to have a part of him still with me.

I awoke to a soft stroke up and down my face. I couldn't will my eyes to open and it pained me. My chest was tight and I wanted to cry.

Edward softly wiped away the tears that silently fell and stained my cheeks.

He lifted me effortlessly and rocked me, as if I was a baby in his arms until my tears stopped, the pain and tightness rescinded and I was able to open my eyes.

His eyes stared back at mine; bright green and full of pain. He never stopped rocking me, or taking his eyes from mine.

That day, my body never left his. He carried me to the window and held me as I watched winter turn to spring. There were beautiful flowers blooming in a patch of the courtyard where the sun hit and warmed the buds underground to sprout.

Kids ran with no jackets and I wondered how nice it really was outside.

Just a few days earlier, the wind was chilly on my exposed flesh, yet now the world seemed to come back alive as the world warmed.

The realizations that I would never feel the wind on my skin, or droplets of rain as the sky clouded over, or ever again run in the snow and make a snow angel, brought me to tears.

Edward held me as my tears took over my body again. He took me from the window, back to the bed, rocking me until I was lulled back to sleep.

Two days. Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes.

I awoke, still securely in Edward's arms. It was the first day I didn't wake up feeling like death was upon me.

I wiggled and squirmed. Edward finally released his hold on me and I took small steps, using the wall as my support.

I refused to wake him to slave over me another day. As much as I loved and adored that he was caring for me, a stranger, I couldn't be selfish. I wouldn't be.

It took me twenty minutes, five stops and three almost-falls to make it across the small hospital room and into the bathroom.

I rested my head on the wall, trying to find the courage and strength to get back up and make the trip back to my bed.

There was a small knock on the bathroom door. I was sure it was Edward. I stood, slowly pulling my underwear and sweats up.

I opened the door, and before me was a shocked and upset-looking Edward.

He stepped into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around me for support as I tried to catch my breath again from standing to open the door.

He washed my hands and face for me, before he carried me back to the bed.

I felt helpless. I was a twenty-six year-old baby.

Mid-day, Edward left for food and I cried. I hated that he was someone that cared for me. Not because I asked him to, or he was obligated, but because there was a part of him that wanted to care for me. Maybe he felt sorry for me, or his father told him to do a good deed and support an alone, dying girl on her last leg of life.

Either way, I was happy he was there. Having him with me made the week easier.

I coughed and let out a moan of pain. I was gagging and my chest, no matter what I did, refused to fill with air.

I went light-headed before I felt the tell-tale feeling of an oxygen mask covering my face. The fresh air being blown and forced into my lungs.

I opened my eyes and Edward stood over me, holding the mask in place. His eyes were needy, his smile meek. He was hurting because I was hurting.

I wanted to tell him to leave. The process would never get better. I was going to die, and he was unnecessarily suffering along with me.

I lifted my hand to touch his face as it hovered over mine. I felt my skin touch his as I drifted out.

I was in my princess dress again, Edward on my arm. Renee and Charlie stood before us, together and happy. There were smiles all around and little children with my deep brown hair and Edward's fierce green eyes joined us.

I was surrounded, engulfed in love; love for a child, love for a friend, love for my own, could-have-been children.

I sucked in a deep breath and shook.

I blinked once, twice, three times and they were all gone; the children, Charlie, Renee. All that was left was Edward, standing there, holding my hand, keeping me strong.

I came to the conclusion six months ago, when Carlisle told me it wouldn't be much longer, that I would die, and that was okay.

I had no family. I had no commitments, nobody to love and nobody to love me. I was content living my life and dying with dignity, alone.

Suddenly, I feared death. I wanted to stay and be happy and fight. I wanted to fight for another day, or hour or minute with Edward.

Unknowing to me, I had forty-two minutes until the big man in the sky called me 'home.'

Edward clutched my hand tighter as my breathing became more ragged.

Carlisle checked on me, but I shooed him away. I knew if he was there, he would make the process longer.

As much as I hated to go, I knew it had to happen.

My eyes fluttered closed and I felt Edward's face next to mine.

Ten minutes more.

I was choking and shaking. When I was able to take a complete breath, it was shallow and forced and I thought my lungs would give in before the air I needed was inhaled and expelled.

I lay there, on what would be my death bed, and looked up at Edward. He knew it too. Tears fell from his eyes. I wanted to cry too; for me leaving him, for him having to watch this, but my eyes wouldn't let the tears form and fall.

I wasn't sure how that week, being the death of me, turned into the best week I had ever lived. I was loved by a stranger, who chose to care for me. I was comforted and soothed, so my last moments would be happy, instead of alone and for my mind only. I would be remembered by him. He would be someone who could allow me to live on, even after death.

I took a ragged breath, coughing at the exhale. I sucked in three short, strained breaths, never taking my eyes from his.

He leaned closer. Our noses touched. His fingertips grazed the fragile skin of my face.

"Bella, I love you." I felt his lips touch mine. We softly kissed as the world around me went black.

_fin_


End file.
